


Wings to Fly

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-28
Updated: 2004-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian, a magus in exile, is summoned by his homeland to provide aid in the war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Days ago the horse had perished beneath an avalanche of snow; its master now seemed fated to die in much the same way. The storm had raged unceasingly, dumping almost two feet of snow on the mountain. Ironically, he was well within his goal. By this evening he might have expected to reach his destination. Might have except that his supplies had been buried with the horse and he hadn't eaten for three days. In his weakened state, he could barely place one foot in front of the other. How he'd gotten this far, the gods only knew but, most likely, he would go no further. He could no longer feel the cold air on his face or the ground beneath his feet; numbness had set in all over his body and he was blinded by the endless snowfall. 

Still, he pressed on, gaining very little ground, in the hope that the gods would take pity on him and enable him to deliver his message. He was the latest in a string of messengers who'd disappeared and no one had seriously expected him to succeed, but the attempt had to be made. So he had been sent. Now, it seemed he would fail as well, his bones lost on the mountain. 

An hour later, he sat down to die. His time had come and he would meet it as he'd been taught: eyes open, mind clear. 

His sight began to fail. Although the snow had thinned a bit, he was still unable to see beyond his feet. Yet his mind was firmly under control. He thought. Then he heard the flap of wings. Coming from above. Looking up in vain, he could only see a solid sheet of snow falling towards him. He closed his eyes, afraid now, turning his back on his master's teachings. Each man's death was his own affair and he would answer for the manner of his before the gods. 

The snow enveloped him like soft, feathered wings and he knew no more. Death had arrived. 

 

"Here," said a brusque voice. "Put him here. I've got blankets." 

He was laid down on a small bed, his clothes efficiently yet gently stripped from his body, he was dried off and two blankets wrapped around him. He could not speak, could not form the thoughts to even guide his tongue should his mouth endeavor to cooperate. His arm jerked. 

"Rest," said a voice, not the same that had spoken before, but male as well yet kinder sounding, soothing. He closed his eyes. “Sleep. You’re safe here.” 

But the other man made a sound in his throat and said, “None of us are safe here. None of us.” 

 

The smell of soup woke him. He opened his eyes and gazed up into the face of a fair, young man with intense blue eyes. The young man smiled and pointed to a bowl on the tiny table next to the bed. "If you sit up, you can eat." His had been the kinder voice. 

"Thank you." The man helped him to sit, placing a hand in the small of his back. "Did you… save me?" 

"I came and got you. Brian found you." 

The man’s words confused him. "I don’t understand." 

"I’m Justin," his rescuer said before handing him the soup. "Careful, it's hot." 

Taking the bowl, the bedridden messenger introduced himself as well. "I'm Christian." Looked down at the bowl. "Could you light another candle? It's rather dark in here, don't you think?" despite the roaring fire in the hearth. 

"Brian and I never use this room. Sorry." He turned to retrieve a candle from a cupboard and heard Christian's sharp intake of breath. "Oh," he said and twitched his shoulder blades. His wings ruffled. "Those." 

"You're… you're an angel." 

"Brian doesn’t think so," smiled Justin and he carried the candle to the fire and lit it and placed it in the other wall sconce." 

"Are you an angel?" 

"No," replied Justin. "I just have wings." 

Christian put aside his bowl. "May I touch them?" 

Turning to the side, Justin stretched his wings slightly and watched as Christian tentatively reached for them. Before he could touch them, an older, dark-haired man with piercing hazel eyes entered the room. Brian, he supposed.

"What are you doing?" he barked. 

Justin immediately closed his wings, folded them neatly at his back. "He wanted to feel them." With a slight nod of his head, Brian granted permission. Justin spread his wings again and waited for Christian to regain his courage under Brian's stern gaze. 

Like a soft breeze, Justin's wings brushed over Christian's hands and stroked his cheek. 

"Oh…" he whispered in wonder. "How? How did this happen?" 

With a complete look of innocence on his face, Justin replied, "Brian gave them to me." 

Christian's eyes widened, gazing in awe at the man who had suddenly taken on a new identity. "You're the Magus." 

"And you," said Brian, "are a hindrance. Kindly heal yourself and leave." 

"But—" Christian began before the door shut behind Brian. "I came to see you," he finished, then turned to Justin. "He's angry with me." 

"And with the seven others we've had to bury. He's angry with the Council for exiling him in the first place and even angrier that they're sending messengers to die. They want him back, don't they?" 

"The city's been under siege for months now. The enemy bombards us at will and we've been unable to secure new supplies due to the blockade. Three men lost their lives that I might slip through enemy lines and reach you." 

"I'm sorry," said Justin, for he had a kind heart, "but he will not go back." He started for the door, then paused. "I won't let him." He opened the door. "Now eat your soup. It has healing herbs." The door shut. 

Staring into the fire, Christian did as he was told. 

Justin found Brian sitting by the hearth in their bedchamber, a blanket hastily thrown around his bare shoulders. Removing his own robe, Justin crouched behind him and wrapped him in his wings. 

"What does he say?" Brian asked. 

"That the city is under siege. They can't get supplies through the blockade." 

"Starvation and disease must be rampant." 

"Don't," Justin warned and started to draw away but Brian caught his hand and held him still. 

"Beloved…" 

"I know you still care." 

"They're my people." 

"And I am nothing." It ached to say so but he would not lie to himself.

"You are everything." 

Brian's words gave him some comfort, still the truth remained, undeniable. "Everything, but not enough to keep you from going back." 

"I haven't decided." 

"Yet." He slipped the blanket from around Brian's shoulders and embraced him, the tips of his wings stroking Brian's chest as they curved about their bare bodies. There was so much he could have said but nothing more eloquent than this: than skin touching skin. 

Turning in Justin's arms, Brian kissed him softly upon the lips. "You are my beloved. Ask me to stay and I will." 

"Then stay." 

Brian kissed him once more. "Anything for you." Laid his forehead against Justin's. 

But despite Brian's promise, Justin felt uneasy. "I know you think me selfish and I am. You're all I have." 

Lying back on the blanket that was truckled up beneath him, Brian drew his lover to his chest and held him tightly. "And you are all I have. All I need." 

Heedless of their guest, they made love throughout the evening, Justin's wings fluttering wildly as he straddled Brian's hips, impaled upon his lover's erection, the two of them ascending the heights of ecstasy together. 

 

In the morning, Brian attended to their guest himself, bringing him hot tea and porridge. "How do you feel?" he asked, placing the tray of food and drink on the bedside table. 

"Much better, thank you. Although…" began Christian. 

"Although what?" 

"I thought wizards had the power to heal." He sat up in bed and began eating his breakfast. 

"Are you not healing?" 

"Well, yes, but—" 

"You were expecting fireworks?" 

Grinning ruefully, Christian admitted, "Perhaps." 

"Is that your idea of magic?" The young man shrugged. "Being a wizard means knowing how much power to use, if any. Why waste time and energy preparing a spell when a simple herb would accomplish the same thing?" He shook his head. 

In his defense, Christian said, "There are no more wizards to teach the ones who would learn." 

"I am no teacher," Brian said, rejecting the implication. He smiled not without a trace of humor. "I am in exile. I do as all exiles do: I farm to keep food on the table; I husband animals and hunt so that we might have meat; and I read. I read a great deal." 

"And plot?" asked Christian. "Don't all exiles plot to return to their homelands?" 

"My home is here. With Justin." 

"My Lord, you do more than farm and read. He is the proof." 

"Proof of my foolishness," he confessed with another smile, this one more open. "And my loneliness." He started for the door, Christian's words stopping him. 

"An army of winged men would be a great boon to our city." 

Brian slapped the side of the doorframe and turned with anger in his eyes. "You will never say so again!" 

"My Lord—" 

"Death! It's all you think of. Never life." To Christian, the wizard seemed to be on the verge of taking a life: his. 

In an instant, Justin appeared at the mage's side. "My love…?" He laid his hand upon Brian's arm and Christian could see how gradually the man calmed under his soothing touch. 

"The storm will last a few more days. Time enough for our guest to regain his strength. Then he must return to his city," emphasis on his. Brian left. 

Accusations in his eyes, Justin demanded, "What did you say to him?" 

"I…" Rather than cowering in shame, Christian chose to defend his idea. "I merely suggested that he could help the city by creating an army of winged soldiers. Even you could see—" 

Justin shook his head, in pity it seemed. "Fools. All of you." 

Before he too could leave, Christian asked, "Why would that be so wrong?" 

The young man stretched his wings. "Because these he gave to me out of love," he said and he hurried after the wizard. In his wake, a single white feather drifted to the floor. 

Brian heard his lover approach and lifted a spoonful of the porridge without much enthusiasm. "Inedible," he said. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to be so long." 

Taking his seat across from Brian, Justin said, "You see? They haven't changed at all. They don't deserve your pity. Or your help." 

Laughing bitterly, Brian asked, "What about the children? The innocents, the ones who have no voice? Who might have been better if they had been taught to be more than mere bodies?" 

"Innocents die. You can't save them all." 

He pushed away his bowl. "I saved you," he said without looking up. 

"I'm going to lose you, aren’t I?" asked Justin in a voice that was more mouse than hawk despite his powerful wings. 

"Never," Brian answered. He stood and cleared the table. "I'll see what else I can find." 

Left alone, Justin brooded, wings twitching. 

 

Having remained in his room for most of the day writing in the journal he'd brought with him on his journey, Christian grew tired of recording his adventures and went in search of his hosts. For the first time since he'd arrived, he toured the house. It was rather small, much smaller than the grand home the mage would have commanded in the city yet it seemed to fit the life he'd been reduced to: more farm than estate, but well-made and beautiful in its own way. Besides the guestroom and a small nearby privy room which Christian had availed himself of since waking, there was the mage's bedchamber that he shared with Justin with an adjoining bathing area and privy, the kitchen, a large area with a fireplace and room for a dining table, and a room whose door was closed. Christian assumed it was the Magus' workroom as all wizards had such rooms. Hearing a noise coming from inside, he decided that he was right and moved past it before he could attract Brian's attention. He had no desire for another run-in with the mage. 

Instead he grabbed his cloak and headed outside to see just where he was, having been unconscious when he'd arrived two days ago. As he opened the house's solitary door, he heard a thudding sound coming from in the direction of the barn. Going to investigate, he found Justin chopping wood. But it wasn't the sight of the winged youth swinging an axe that captured his attention; it was, instead, the mountains that rose around the valley in which the house crouched. Towering magisterially over the valley and its denizens, the mountains seemed to judge him and find him wanting. He had nearly died on his errand and despite having survived, he was no closer to convincing the mage to return to the city than he had been when he'd first set off from its gates. 

Thinking of his family and friends trapped in the city like rats on a sinking ship, he resolved to redouble his efforts. The mage had to return to the city and do something. For too long they had lived under the shadow of their enemy's sword. If he could not convince Brian to return to the city, he might just as well climb the tallest peak above the valley and throw himself off. It'd be a quicker and cleaner death than the one that awaited him in the city when their enemies breached their defenses. With food and ammunition running low, it was only a matter of time before the city was either forcibly entered or forced to surrender. When that happened, his days would be numbered. He'd either be enslaved and sent to work in the mines for their enemies or slain outright. 

Putting aside the axe, Justin gathered up an armful of wood and studied his guest.   
"You've come to admire the view? I think not." 

Christian shook his head. 

"You cannot sway me." 

"Thousands will die." 

"As long as he lives, what care I how many of you perish?" 

"I think you do." Christian paused, then said, "And, more importantly, I know that he does." 

"He will not leave me," Justin said through clenched teeth. "You cannot have him. I will not let him go." With one last angry look, he tramped inside the house leaving Christian to his thoughts. Once there, he met Brian coming out of his workroom in search of tea. 

"Where is our guest?" 

Justin gestured outside. "Plotting. Scheming. He's trying to take you away," he said, desperation creeping in his voice. Brian said nothing. Putting the wood in its box, Justin wrapped his arms around his body even though the fire provided adequate heat. "You're going, aren't you?" But before Brian could answer, Justin swept from the room. Their bedroom door slammed. 

Taking a seat, Brian ran a hand over his face. 

The door opened again but Justin did not appear. He'd made the first overture; Brian would have to make the next. 

Walking slowly, he entered their chamber and shut the door behind him. Crossed to where Justin sat staring out of the room's only window which looked out on the forest that began behind their house and carpeted the side of the mountain. Brian clasped Justin's shoulder, his knuckles brushing against the soft feathers of one wing. 

"You promised me." 

"I know." 

"And now you've come to tell me that you've lied." Justin stood and moved away, Brian's hand falling from his shoulder. "And that you're leaving." 

"Beloved—" 

"You should have let me die!" he shouted. "Why give me everything and then take it all away?" 

"I'll be back." 

"It's a war, Brian! People die in wars. What if you die?" 

"I won't." 

"Another promise I can't believe." 

"I would never leave you." 

"You are leaving." 

"Only for a while. A very little while." He clasped Justin's shoulders again, stared into his beautiful blue eyes. Angel eyes. The eyes of his seraphim. "I love you." 

"Then stay. Stay with me. Forget the city. They didn't want you; they exiled you." He could see that Brian wasn't listening and it angered him. "Why do you care!" 

"If I didn't, would I be the man that you fell in love with?" 

Justin laughed helplessly, a bit hysterically and buried his face in Brian's neck. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he shook in Brian's arms. Sniffling, he said, "Then take me with you." 

"I can't." 

"I could help." 

"My love," said Brian, "I would not risk you." 

"I can't stay behind, wondering if you're dead, waiting for you to return, not knowing…" 

Kissing Justin once more, Brian took him by the hand and led him to his workroom. "Sit here," he told him and removed a small crystal decanter from a shelf. First whispering a few words over the vial, Brian said out loud into its mouth, "For my beloved." Instantly, the air inside the container turned a warm gold. Brian sealed the decanter with a stopper and handed it to Justin. "As long as this glows gold, you'll know I'm alive and fighting to return to you." 

Taking the vial, Justin embraced Brian tightly. "Please don't die," he said, even as he was dying inside. 

"I won't," Brian assured him with a kiss, taking pleasure from his lover's warm lips. How he would miss them. 

Stealing a few more kisses, Justin then asked, "When will you leave?" 

"As soon as the messenger has completely healed. I'd have no invalid traveling with me." 

Although he knew Brian would have no answer, he asked anyway, "When will you return?" 

Knowing what Justin's real question was, he replied, "As soon as I can." 

Justin gave his arm a squeeze, then released him. "I'll see to lunch. Leave you to your preparations." As he left the room, his head reeled. It had taken all of his strength to agree to Brian's plans not that he'd had much choice. Once Brian made up his mind, there was no dissuading him. The most he could do was to accept Brian's decision with as much grace as he could. Which was not very much. Especially when the cause of his misery was walking into the house. Cutting his eyes at Christian, Justin spat, "Are you satisfied?" 

"Justin—" 

"He's going with you. To defend a city that cast him out, a people who turned their backs on him. If he dies, you will bring his body back to me." 

"I—" 

"You will do this," Justin demanded, leaving no room for argument or negotiation. 

"I will do it," Christian said in agreement. 

Justin nodded. And then I will kill you, he said to himself and the thought made him smile. 

A raptor's smile which did not comfort Christian at all. Yet the thought of having successfully completed his mission did. Something of his pleasure must have shown on his face for Justin spoke when he had intended to keep silent. 

"I was but a boy when he found me. I had seen less than sixteen years. My parents were killed. By marauders, bandits who had come high into the mountains to steal and pillage what they could. They came upon our homestead and slaughtered my mother and father. Me, they kept." He glanced over at Christian, to see if he understood. By the faint blush in his cheeks, he saw that he did. "When they tired of me, they left me for dead." He placed the tea kettle over the fire. "I wanted to die. My brother had perished in the war, one of the many necessary wars," he explained, voice choked with bitterness. "Now there was no one left but myself. The bandits had even burned down the house and the barn, taking what animals they wanted and killing the rest. I had no one and nowhere to go." He wiped away a tear. "Brian found me lying unconscious on a little used trail. He brought me here to his home and he nursed me to health. But more than healing my body, he gave me a reason to live. Despite what had happened to me, I grew to love him. And he, in turn, grew to love me. He taught me to read and write, to mark the stars, to think." 

Placing three plates upon the table, he brought out a loaf of bread and thickly sliced it. His wings fluttered as if in a breeze. "One day, three years ago, I went hunting up in the mountains. For a goat to replace one that had died." He smiled, this time warmly. "Brian loves goat cheese." Then his face darkened. "I slipped and fell into a chasm. My leg was broken and I was unable to move. I thought I was going to die. But Brian found me. When my leg had healed, he cast a spell over me and five weeks later, wings began to sprout from my shoulders. In six months, I had these." He spread them and they appeared to blanket the room in softness. "Because he loved me. Because he would not do without me." Justin removed a haunch of meat from a container, began to slice it as well. "And now he has to. Because you've come begging." He paused to wipe his eyes again. "In all the world, he is the only thing I need." 

"There are others who need him," Christian reminded him, garnering a harsh look. "He is the Magus. His magic will protect him and he'll return to you just as he left." 

"No," Justin replied, "he will not. He will not be the same. And if you believe that he will, then you are a fool and know nothing of war." Added, "Or men's hearts." 

 

Despite the cold, he held the feather in his bare hand, remembering how Justin had plucked it from his wing and used it to stroke him from head to toe prior to the two of them making love. He remembered how Justin had given the feather to him just before he left, a token of his love, eyes shining with unshed tears. Justin had wept the night before so that he might face the day and Brian's leaving clear-eyed. Still, as Brian had stepped across the threshold, Justin had sobbed and grabbed his cloak. 

"Soon," Brian had promised once more and Justin had nodded and released him. In his mind, Brian could see him placing the vial of golden light in a safe spot, waiting for the day when Brian would return. 

Christian had seen the vial and knew what it meant. Glancing over at the mage, he said, "He doesn't need the bottle, does he? If you die, he will lose his wings." 

Which was something Brian had never confessed to Justin, not wanting to burden him with any more sorrow. Brian looked askance at Christian. He had known that Christian was gifted, it was how he'd found him in the snow, how he'd found all the other messengers. Still, he hadn't known if Christian knew he was gifted. Now he did. "There must still remain one teacher of the gifted in the city." 

"Yes," Christian replied. "Master Harkken." Brian grunted noncommittally. "But he is tired, he grows old. He is not you, my lord. Not only were you the youngest of the wizards but also the most powerful." 

"I am no teacher," Brian told him, echoing his earlier sentiments. "I have not taught anyone in all the years of my exile." 

”Justin is gifted as well, isn't he?" When Brian said nothing, he continued, "That's how you were able to find him so easily, isn't it?" 

"Yes." 

"Why didn't you teach him?" 

"I didn't want him to go through the hell I had to endure. And for what? What has all my learning earned me but the scorn and distrust of the very people I once sought to save? The very people I go now to save. That I have had to leave him for." 

"He might have been able to aid you, to have come with you." 

Brian's voice sounded hollow in the wind that stirred about them. "I would not have him drawn into this war. There are enough casualties to serve the gods… and the vultures."


	2. Wings to Fly

Brian has been gone for days now and the house is as quiet as a graveyard. Justin huddles on their bed, wings folded around him desperately trying to stay warm despite the roaring fire in the hearth. He feels he will never be warm again for he fears he will never again feel Brian's arms around him.

Like a fallen angel, he broods and silently rails against his fate. And remembers.

 

*

 

"Don't be afraid." 

Terrified despite the reassuring words and the calm timbre of the voice that spoke them, Justin flailed about, striking the man a glancing blow, and tumbled out of bed. Lying on the floor, chest heaving, he glanced up to see a hand stretched out towards him.

"The bed's much more comfortable than the floor." 

It took a Herculean effort for him not to scramble away. He'd been conditioned not to trust strangers, to fear the unknown and with good reason. He was the only member of his family still alive. He remembered—No! Squeezing his eyes shut, he banished his parents' death from his mind. At least temporarily. 

The man's fingers beckoned. "Come. If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have left you out in the snow."

But Justin knew there were worse things than dying, even if you died horribly the way his parents had. There were worse things. Like living at the mercy of the merciless. Even now, when it appeared that he was free of them, just the thought of their hard faces and iron fists caused him to moan. A sudden movement towards him made him back up, head bumping into a small table next to the bed. 

"Are you all right?"

The kindness implied in the man's voice threatened to tumble the unsteady walls of mistrust that he'd built around himself. He knew what happened when you trusted the wrong people, when you hesitated, even for a second. Five, long days he'd suffered for his hesitation, for a split-second of indecision. There had been one who hadn't looked bad, who hadn't seemed to be what they were rumored to be. Maybe… maybe— He groaned again and grasped his head between his hands, body shaking, tears trickling down his cheeks. 

His parents had perished because he'd believed for a moment that fairy tales came true, that sometimes a prince came disguised as a highwayman. He'd stared at the smiling man and disregarded all of his father's teachings—and stripped him of his life. The smiling man had grabbed Justin and held him as another of the brigands took up an axe and buried it in his father's head. Pulling the weapon free, his father's body falling to the ground with a thud, the man had quickly turned and struck his mother as well. Her body joined his father's as Justin had looked on in horror. If only they had killed him as well. 

But he'd known they would not. He'd known from the moment he'd felt the man hard against his hip. The sight of his parents' murder had excited the smiling man and he'd wasted no time in pushing Justin to the ground and baring his ass. Justin hadn't struggled, hadn't fought back, hadn't made a sound until the man pushed inside him and then he'd screamed until he could not breathe, and then he'd bitten his tongue until he'd tasted blood, and then he'd fallen silent again and shut his eyes and pretended he was dead.

But he hadn't died and for five, horrible days he'd traveled with the brigands, wrapped in a blanket so that they didn't have to bother taking his clothes off to force themselves on him. By the time they'd left him to die of the elements, he'd lost count of the number of assaults he'd endured. That first time something had torn inside him and he'd bled and with each violation he'd bled a little more but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. They'd thrown him across a pack horse and carried him like supplies and whenever someone had wanted him, they'd pulled him off and taken him and then tossed him back across the horse. When they'd settled into a camp at night, they'd passed him around to all who wanted him and then left him to take what little food they'd left for him, not that he'd been able to keep much down: a little water and some bread, anything else had gotten heaved up. 

At the end of the five days, the brigands had figured he wouldn't last much longer and had dropped him off of the horse without any ceremony. They'd find another. 

Lying on the cold ground, the first snow of winter not far from falling, he'd prepared to die. It was no more than he deserved, he'd believed, after all, he'd killed his parents. Closing his eyes, icy tears creeping down his cheeks, he'd murmured a prayer to the gods and then given himself up for dead. If only, he had thought, it would begin to snow. He had always loved the snow…

The feel of the man's hand upon his face jerked him back to the present. Eyes wide with fear, Justin whimpered, "Please, don't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you."

But Justin couldn't believe him, he couldn't. He had believed in a man's goodness once before and had lost everything. And this man, this man was so beautiful, he could lose himself in his features: hazel eyes with a hint of green, strong jaw, long neck, straight nose, full lips. But he was a stranger and strangers lied, they lied with smiles and handsome faces.

Something of his resolve much have shown itself to the man because he smiled softly and backed away from him. "I'll leave you then," he said and he was gone. 

Instantly, Justin's breathing became easier. The man had been right about one thing, the floor was uncomfortable. Justin pulled himself up using the small table and the side of the bed as anchors and then crawled into bed, sighing at the softness of the mattress he sank into and the warmth of the thick blankets he drew over himself. Feeling safer than he had since the brigands had invaded their homestead, Justin closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

 

When he awoke, the man was sitting at the far side of the room in a chair, reading. He raised a cup to his lips and sipped from it, then placed it back on a side table. His lips were full and flushed with life and Justin found himself wondering how they would feel against his skin. Then he remembered other kisses, clumsy kisses that had smelled of alcohol, that had left marks on his neck and back. There'd been one of the men who had taken great pleasure in biting him as he'd raped him. Although he'd taken no food, Justin retched, the muscles of his stomach clenching painfully as he fought for air. 

Instantly the man was out of his chair and by his side. "Lie back," he said. "Lie back, I won't hurt you."

Justin did was he was told and the man began to lightly stroke his belly in a circular motion. A shudder ran through his body, whether from fear or pleasure Justin didn't know. 

"Be still, all is well," he whispered. "I will protect you."

The man's words calmed him and soon Justin stopped shivering. Of its own accord, his hand moved atop the man's. With a gentle smile, the man turned his hand over and grasped Justin's. 

"Where am I?" Justin asked, the first words he'd spoken to his rescuer.

"In my home. My name is Brian."

After a moment, "Justin."

Stroking Justin's forehead with his free hand, Brian said, "Welcome, Justin." He brushed his hair back from his brow and stared into Justin's eyes. 

Justin felt his face warm under the man's scrutiny and wondered why he studied him so. Finally, he turned away but Brian gently drew his face around once more. 

"Forgive me, you must be hungry." Releasing Justin's hand, he left the room.

 

For days the routine was the same: Brian would sit in Justin's room and wait for him to wake before bringing him breakfast in bed, then he'd disappear for most of the morning leaving Justin with a pen and ink and paper upon which the boy would draw. He was quite good, even Brian told him so. Around noon Brian would return with the midday meal and sit and talk with his guest for a while before vanishing again. Supper they took together in Justin's room, he in bed and Brian seated in the chair he'd drag to the bedside. Although Justin tried to dissuade him from doing so, he knew that Brian slept in the chair in his room all night. 

"I'll be fine," he told him.

"Of course you will be. You will heal," Brian assured him. 

But he hadn't, not yet. They both knew that. Because of the dreams, dreams that gripped Justin in the middle of the night and shook him like a dog does a rabbit or a bird. He would begin screaming, muscles locked with fear. Trapped by the horror of his captivity, he was unable to break free on his own. Only Brian's voice had the power to shatter the hold of the past. He would sit on the bed next to Justin and stroke his stomach and whisper soothing words to him until the boy stopped screaming and he unclenched his muscles. Limp, he would fall asleep without ever having awakened. The only reason he knew what happened during the night was because Brian would tell him each morning. 

He had been with Brian for weeks before he finally felt strong enough to leave bed for anything other than using the privy. Brian had admonished him to rest and let his body regain its strength and he had listened. This morning he'd taken his breakfast and announced that afterwards he wanted a tour of the house. Smiling, Brian had agreed. 

Of course, there wasn't a lot to see. The house only had two bedchambers and a large room that served as a dining room and kitchen and hall. There were two privies as well, one in Brian's chamber and one between the guest room and a room they did not enter. Justin didn't ask and Brian didn't volunteer its purpose. At the end of their small tour, Brian insisted that Justin sit in the great room and rest. He mulled some wine and sprinkled spices in it before bringing Justin a cup. 

Their hands touched. "Thank you," said Justin shyly and pulled away. He lowered his eyes, keeping them on the dark contents of the wine glass. Although the surface was smooth, it seemed to swirl, mimicking the feeling inside him. Risking a look, he saw Brian staring at him from across his own cup, hazel eyes fixed upon his face. He blushed and glanced down.

"I know what they did to you."

Justin started and the flush in his cheeks deepened. The shame and humiliation.

"I tended your wounds when I brought you home."

Of course, he had; and he'd seen the damage. How stupid. How could he have forgotten that Brian would have seen the bruises and the blood when he'd cleaned him up and cared for him? For a moment, for a split-second he'd believed that Brian had wanted him; but how could he? Why would he want something that had been used by other men and thrown away, soiled and useless? 

"Justin?"

He wouldn't look up. Brian couldn't mean what his voice implied. 

"Justin, please."

He refused to respond. After a moment, Brian rose and left the house. Alone, Justin drew a deep breath and felt the first tear slip down his cheek. 

Brian didn't return for and hour and when he did, he did not come looking for Justin in his room as he normally did. Instead he began to prepare their midday meal in silence. When it was ready, he carried in Justin's tray and left it on the table next to his bed and retreated. 

Justin didn't move to take his meal. His appetite had fled. More than anything he wanted to call Brian back into the room and explain himself. But he couldn't. He didn't understand anything anymore. He would have thought that his experiences with the marauders would have inured him to any overtures from any man, would have chilled his heart (and loins) and yet he found himself thinking of Brian, thinking about holding him, touching Brian's secret places, kissing him. Maybe it was because Brian had saved his life. Maybe what he was feeling was nothing more than gratitude. 

Only, he knew that wasn't true. Even though he was grateful that Brian had saved him his feelings went deeper than that to a place that frightened him. He'd made a mistake once before and it had cost him his parents; what might he lose this time? By the same token, what might he gain? 

Throwing back the covers on his bed, he got up and went looking for Brian. Checking all of the rooms except for the one with the closed door, he went back to it and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. Tempted to turn the handle and try the lock, Justin hesitated. He remembered a fairy tale his mother had told him, of a bride in a castle and a locked door and the horrors that lay behind it. Certain that Brian would answer if he were in the room, Justin concluded that he must have left the house. 

Three hours later he began to worry. Brian had never stayed out so long before: he'd been afraid to leave Justin alone for any real length of time while he was still recovering and so he'd limited his trips away from the house to an hour at a time. Standing in the threshold, Justin craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brian on his way back home. Nothing. Fretting, he sat down at the table and thumped the top with his fingers. Where could Brian be? Thump, thump. Maybe he was hurt. Thump. Maybe he was so angry he couldn’t face Justin. Thump, thump. Maybe he'd been attacked by wild animals. Or worse. 

Justin stood up quickly, the irrational vision of Brian at the hands of a band of marauders propelling him to action. He found a spare coat and a pair of boots in Brian's room. Even though both the coat and the shoes were too big, they'd do fine for now. He just hoped he hadn't wasted valuable time. Fighting off dizziness, he stumbled from the house, terrified that he'd be too late. 

Winter had come bringing snow which was fortunate for Justin because he could see Brian's tracks clearly. Pulling his borrowed coat tighter around him, he began to follow where the tracks led. 

He hadn't gone far from the house when it began to snow again. Cursing his luck, Justin continued to follow the trail of footprints, hoping he'd find Brian before the newly fallen snow obscured all clues as to his whereabouts. As he walked on, his heart began to beat faster with the effort of moving through the deepening snow and with the fear of losing Brian when he'd only just found him. 

He didn't know how long he'd been walking but his leg muscles had begun to tremble and he didn't know how much further he could go. The snow continued to fall and his face and fingers felt numb. If he didn't find Brian soon he'd have to turn back or risk dying out here after all of Brian's efforts to keep him alive. Still the thought of Brian in trouble drove him forward. 

Moments later, he fell. He'd seen the rock in his path, known that he had to walk around it, and somehow he'd tripped over it anyway and fallen. Lying face down in the snow, he began to laugh. Some savior he'd turned out to be. As his body closed down, he prayed that Brian was safe…

 

He heard a voice calling his name as if from a great distance. Who would be calling him from atop a mountain? Maybe it was one of the gods. He'd been taught that the gods called you when it was your time to depart the world. He wondered if his parents had heard anyone calling them before they'd been murdered. 

"Justin! Justin! Wake up!" 

Not only was the god calling him but he was shaking him as well. Perhaps it was one of the more warlike gods. 

"Justin!" 

He was being lifted. Now he'd be taken to paradise. Giving himself over to the gods, Justin sank beneath the blanket of consciousness. 

 

He awoke, not in paradise, but in Brian's guest chamber with Brian leaning over him, hand pressed against his cheek. Justin basked in the warmth of his skin. "Mmm…"

"I've some soup."

"Okay," he replied and sat up in bed. He took the bowl from Brian's hands and cradled it in his own. It felt so good. 

Watching him eat, Brian waited a moment before beginning his interrogation. "What were you doing outside?"

"Looking for you."

"Why?"

"You'd been gone so long. I thought something had happened to you." He lowered his eyes, then looked up again. "I thought you might have fallen prey to some animal." 

With a smile, Brian said, "Watch." He held out his hand and closed his eyes briefly. When he reopened them a flame appeared in his palm, flickering in an invisible wind. 

Justin gasped and nearly spilt his soup. With eyes widened in awe, he whispered, "You're a mage." 

"Yes." The flame vanished.

His cheeks reddened. "I've been a fool."

"Perhaps." He tousled Justin's hair. "But thank you for coming to look for me."

"Thank you for saving me. Again."

"I was wrong to leave." He paused. "I thought I'd frightened you."

"No—I just—I don’t know." Justin was so confused. He felt a pull towards Brian so strongly that he was tempted to five in but, at the same time, he wanted to flee, to hide.

"I shouldn’t have pushed."

"You didn't." Putting his soup away, he grasped Brian's hand in his. "I was just… It's been so hard," he said, trying to explain everything yet explaining nothing.

Keeping silent, Brian waited for Justin to continue.

"They killed my parents. I watched them die, slaughtered like pigs." He shut his eyes against the image but it persisted, and the sound, the sound was the worst. "One of them took me, there, on the ground." His voice choked as he spoke. "I, I stared at their bodies as he raped me." Blood soaking the hard ground, his and theirs. 

Brian raised his fingers to Justin's mouth and pressed them against his lips. "You don't have to say anymore."

Turning aside his head, Justin said, "I loved them so much. And I killed them."

"No."

"My father called for me to grab the axe and I didn't. There was a man. I thought… I thought…" He could speak no more of his failure; the shame was too great. 

Slipping his arms around Justin's shoulders, Brian held him as he wept. "They are at peace now," he told him. "Let them rest."

Eyes wet with tears, Justin asked, "How? How can I?"

Brian cupped hi face. "I can make you forget."

"Everything?"

"Make you believe you were an orphan. You would feel no pain at having lost them. Let me do this for you."

"But, I loved them. I don't want to forget them."

"Then let me change the manner of their deaths, let me take that pain away from you."

He was so tempted to agree; to have the memory of their murder wiped from his mind and to rest peacefully at night would be wonderful. And a lie. They had died as they had and even if he couldn't remember, even if he believed otherwise, it would not change the past. And so he refused. "No. Thank you for offering but I can't."

"I understand," said Brian, surprising Justin. "There are many things I've done, things that were done to me that I would rather forget but I won't, not so long as I live. They're part of me now and, for better or worse, I'm who I am because of them. So are you." He leaned forward and kissed Justin sweetly upon his forehead. "And I would not change you." Releasing Justin, Brian stood. "I should start supper."

"Let me help you." Justin started to get up but Brian gently pushed him back.

"Rest. I might have lost you today." Saying nothing more, he departed, leaving Justin strangely elated. Although he'd forever live with the pain of his parents' deaths, he would no longer be alone.

 

"Have you always lived here?"

Brian sipped his wine. "No. I come from Arabai."

"So far?" Even though he'd lived all of his life in the mountains, Justin had heard of the capital city. His brother had joined the army to fight for Arabai in one of its many wars and had been killed. "Why did you come here?" Brian seemed to hesitate so Justin added quickly, "Forgive me. I did not mean to pry."

"I was exiled," Brian said after a moment.

He did not ask why although the urge to do so was great. 

"I was an advisor to the city's council," Brian explained then smiled ruefully. "Strong-willed and sharp-tongued men should not give advice to others."

"But you are very wise, My Lord," said Justin when it had become clear to him just how powerful Brian was.

"My Lord?" He raised a brow. "Call me Brian. It's been so long since anyone spoke my name… and you say it so sweetly." 

Justin smiled shyly and blushed, cursing his fairness.

"As for being wise, I wasn't wise enough to keep silent when I should have. And so I was banished from the city. I came here to be alone." He bit his lip. "I thought it was what I wanted. But it turns out I didn't know what I wanted." His eyes found Justin's. "Until now."

Justin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and hid his nervousness with a sip of wine. No one had ever affected him the way Brian did. Just being in the same room with him made him feel slightly dizzy and he was glad they had decided to dine at the table instead of his room. Summoning courage from someplace deep within, he asked, "Has there never been anyone else?"

Brian's eyes shone in the lamplight. "No one like you," he replied in a husky whisper that seemed to penetrate Justin's body and flutter in his belly. 

As Justin watched, Brian sketched a glyph in the air and, before his eyes, the light coalesced in the form of a shimmering rose. Justin gasped. "Brian." Forgetting it was only an illusion, Justin reached for the flower, his fingers dispersing the image. He gave a cry, saddened by its loss but then Brian stood and came to him and held out his hand. Justin took it and was drawn to his feet, drawn up into a kiss. 

"No rose could ever compare to you," Brian murmured against his lips. Feeling Justin tremble, he asked, "Are you afraid?"

"Yes." He gripped Brian's arm.

"You can say no."

"I don’t want to." In an instant he was lifted and carried not to his own room but to Brian's bed chamber and laid upon Brian's huge bed. His heart was beating so fast he didn't think he'd be able to breathe and he was certain that the moment Brian touched him he'd either explode or he'd pull away because, despite wanting Brian, he hadn't lied when he'd said he was afraid. He knew Brian was nothing like the men who had attacked him but it was hard to forget, hard for his body to forget the feel of their hands grabbing him, the stink of their breath… 

Lying next to Justin, Brian did nothing more than touch his face, stroking his cheeks while assuring Justin that he would never hurt him, even at the cost of his own life. 

Finally Justin moved into Brian's strong arms. "I believe you," he said as Brian embraced him. 

"Tell me what you need."

"I need you." He nuzzled Brian's throat, opening his lips around a pulsing vein. "I need you to love me."

"I do."

"Show me."

Unhurriedly Brian removed Justin's clothes until he lay naked before him. Then he let Justin do the same to him and Justin thought he'd never felt so powerful before, just from the simple act of undressing another person, and he knew then that Brian understood him better than he did himself. They came together to kiss, bodies pressed one to the other, skin to skin. 

Although there should have been no mysteries left for him in terms of men's bodies, he found himself mystified by Brian and spent no few minutes gazing into his eyes or kissing his lips, his fingers, his throat. Never before had he been given free rein to explore another man's body; his experiences with the brigands had been one-sided, hurried, and not about pleasure but power, control. Now he was in control and Brian trusted him enough to expose himself. 

From Brian's lips to his belly, Justin kissed and licked every inch of flesh he could reach, hungry for the taste, the smell of Brian's body. As he flicked his tongue over his belly button, he felt Brian's cock brush against the underside of his chin. Lowering his head, he paused and looked up at Brian who smiled. It was all the permission he needed. Unsure as to what he should do, he proceeded slowly, at first doing nothing more than stroking Brian lightly, feeling Brian stiffen in his grip. Hearing the tiny sighs of contentment coming from above him, he experimented with kissing just the tip; soon his efforts were rewarded with a crystalline drop of liquid that he lapped up. Brian's legs parted even wider and he shut his eyes, his tongue peeking from between his lips for an instant. Justin, enthralled by the sight of his lover enjoying his ministrations, opened his mouth around the head of Brian's cock and flicked his tongue over the smooth, firm dome.

"Oh, beloved," moaned Brian, his hands sliding beneath Justin's hair, fingers digging into his nape.

Justin tightened his lips around Brian and sucked him gently, his lover's hips rising from the bed as he gasped. One hand wrapped around the base, Justin sucked and licked Brian's dick until the mage grabbed his head and held him still. Letting Brian slide free, Justin climbed up his body, his lips and chin shiny with saliva and Brian's juices. He could feel his own cock dragging over Brian's belly as they kissed. Brian cupped his ass and Justin ground himself against Brian's stomach, reveling in the feel of his muscles.

"Love me," he whispered between kisses. 

Brian flipped him over with ease, his strength a contradiction to the vulnerability he had shown before. Yet Justin understood that they were but two parts of the same whole. That Brian could be both gentle and strong came as no surprise for hadn't he treated Justin with tenderness and asked for what he wanted when he could have commanded, taken?

Justin smiled up at Brian and received a smile in return.

"You're so beautiful. My beautiful angel," said the mage and he leaned over and kissed Justin softly, the kiss deepening as passion tightened its strands around them. Parting, panting, Brian laughed.

"What?"

"You make me so happy."

Slipping his hand around Brian's neck, Justin pulled his head down until it rested in the hollow of his throat. He could not speak for joy.

With no thoughts of tomorrow, they went about loving one another leisurely, lingering over kisses, ferreting out secret desires unknown even to themselves. When Brian finally pushed inside Justin, the boy welcomed him, tightening his legs around Brian's waist as he succumbed to the waves of pleasure surging through him.

 

*

 

A sob catches in his throat as he weeps. By the gods, they had glowed, lying entwined that first night. No more. He cannot hope for hope has abandoned him. 

He aches for all of the missed kisses and warm embraces, for the peals of laughter and the sighs that no one else has ever heard. All gone. All gone and for what? He hates them: hates the messenger, hates the people of the city, and hates a world that has parted him from his love. Maybe if he hates enough, maybe it will drive away the pain in his heart.

Glaring at the empty room, he espies the glass Brian gave him and sees its warm, amber glow, still bright, still strong, so like his love, and he curses himself for his weakness. Brian has made sacrifices too and has been hurt and yet he has gone to help those he can because he can. And he will return; for when has he ever failed a promise or betrayed his word? Never.

Justin wipes his eyes and smiles. They will be together again, he knows it.

 

The next morning, after resting better than he has for days, he rises and runs outside and takes to the sky with a sharp flap of his wings. In the early morning sunlight, he soars upon the wind; he glows.

And he waits.


End file.
